Freya Knight
by chrihstie
Summary: "All your../breathing/ is polluting the air, kindly stop." -Edith Salvatore (alias: Freya Knight) is a beautiful, cunning, and sassy aristocrat who sets out to overthrow the corrupt rich in nineteenth century Italy. A freelancing vigilante that somehow becomes entangled within the affairs of the Vongola- or at least the people within it. Much to her dismay. [ 1st gen; OC x ? ]


**FREYA KNIGHT  
** CHAPTER ONE

 **A/N:** Been so long since I've posted anything, but here you go. A new story! But please do not hold me accounted to this one because my inspiration is fickle. I do suggest you check as little as possible because I don't know when, or if, I'll update to be honest. /:

New original character. First generation time line, that I placed in 19th century despite my lack of knowledge. Pairing unknown and yet to be thought out, perhaps will be decided due to further interaction. I will be posting more about her past and her information next chapter if I get to it. :c

Anyway, please enjoy!

 **WARNING:** Trigger, **violence**.

 **DISCLAIMER:** I do not own the art on my cover photo or the characters belonging to Akira Amano.

* * *

 **Introduction**

Enter, a young woman fit to be a queen, no less. The mere title of a princess would go as a given disdain. She _walks_ like royalty, back straight and chin held high, gaze ever looking down upon the subjects. And even if they cannot, she will bring them down to her level, or under.

 _A mentality fit to rule_.

Her grace and beauty _known_ , while her reputation varies. Her appearance _flourishes_ , though her personality **decays**. A _seemingly_ delicate rose, held with many, _hidden_ thorns. Beauty is, afterall, the **most** deceiving.

 _And she wields it like a weapon_.

* * *

The thin paper flaps delicately within her waving hand, a notion to tease the twenty year old blond behind the oh _so_ important looking desk. In response, he simply untangles the slender fingers folded under his chin, and _sighs_. A strong back warms into the leather chair as he looks at her, defeated.

"Again?" A tired question yet mingling with the curve of a smile. If she didn't know any better, she might've believed the frown lines were solely from the paperwork stacked neatly upon his busy desk. But she knows better, much better.

So she grins in return, an ever so pleasant smile as she tilts her head. "Oh? Have you finally gotten used to me stealing your work?"

"So you admit it's stealing?"

"Have I ever considered it otherwise?" the woman pushes back, the folded slip tapping against her lightly painted lips as her eyes gleamed with amusement. A tease-

Though as she believes that his gaze held at least half the form of expression hers did, he merely folds his arms in front of his chest. And stares.

The very look of thought makes her frown, mood dropping like the recent temperature. "What is it _now_ , Giotto?" It's **annoying**. Why must he look like he **cares**? They're not _friends_ , hardly even considered acquaintances. At least to the cynic, anyway.

That oh so _kind_ expression **disgusts** her.

"Well I can't _stop_ you. **That** much I've learned, _mademoiselle_." The word alone, spoken fluently within another language, does so much as enough to interrupt her train of thoughts. Frowning, as a shiver crept down her spine. She would like to dismiss the thought that he may have sounded better in (one of) her primary language than she did herself.

Perhaps it's so little as the bare fraction of the curve, the change in his smile, that brought him visits.

"Out with it, Giotto. I have _work_ to do." Impatience veiled thinly within a mere crook of an eyebrow, waiting. Games she likes to play, but her own games. And no one else's.

"If you _insist_ on taking that job, you ought to at least take **one** of my guardians or my men with you." His demeanor grew serious, a gaze that doesn't necessarily look _down_ upon her (oh how tempted she would be to _rip out his throat_ if so) but one that holds her well, steadily, yet **worried**. It's- _Bothersome_.

She scoffs. The very offer doesn't entertain her one bit. Oh how disappointed she is, Giotto. Shouldn't you know her well enough by now? "No thank you." A barely so bothered, quick flash of a smile before she turns on her heels, and strides out the room in grace. Anything leaving his lips traveled through one ear and out the other, and the only notable sound to her is the firm closing of his office door.

She doesn't **do** care, friendship, or any of those _unnecessary_ relationships.

* * *

"Your eyebrows are knitted."

"Are they?" she barely murmurs in response over a warm sip of tea. Eyes opening as the soft clink surfaces from the cup pressing upon its matching plate. Her gaze levels the other blonde's who's smiling rather warmly at her.

"Keep that up and you'll gain wrinkles," the other chides. So she merely huffs audibly in response.

"I'll keep that in mind, _Elena_."

The bright woman only nods, satisfied, before a hand stretches out, and though the receiver almost twitches back in response- and does so in miniscule reaction, as the light contact brushes against her skin. But she holds her place, a neutral expression across her visage despite wanting to squirm. Elena, however, does not seem to notice such repulsion to human contact, or at least _pretends_ to be none the wiser.

"What brings your expression so, Freya? Would you like to discuss it?" Oh such a caring _friend_ , this woman is.

As casually as she could, she pulls back the hand warmed between the other blonde's, and resigns back into the comforts of her chair. Her gaze pans over the rose garden behind the young woman- a maze far off, a carefully constructed fountain of a clam, and a beautiful white gazebo by a pond bridge- before it lands back upon the inquirer.

"...Just- thoughts, regarding my next job."

"Alone?" the woman asks immediately, a look borderline _concern_. What is the **matter** with these people?

"Yes, _alone_ ," Freya responds as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. When is she **ever** on the job with someone else? Solo work _only_ , despite the numerous amount of people that she **uses**. _That's_ , a different story. And one she would **love** to tell, if the person across the table isn't giving her the most _forlorn_ expression. WHY?

" _Freya_ -"

"I'm leaving," the female _bothers_ to announce as cuts the other off, standing in one fluid, practiced movement of 'ladylike grace'. Gathering her belongings in her hand and ill temper into a rehearsed smile of pleasantries on her face. "Good day, Elena. And do take care."

As the woman strides away, her own mind starts to interrogate on the reason she even agreed to tea with the lady to begin with. What is **wrong** with the Vongola? No good comes from hanging out with those who seemed to be pure of heart. Nothing but a waste of time-

And she halts, clacking of heels silencing at the nick of time- If the other person wasn't so keen of their surroundings, or quick on reflexes. He pauses, a good measure of distance away from her. Beautiful, cold, ice blue gaze narrows within her orbs of nearly the same tint. And she smiles, despite his frown.

"Ah, excuse me, Alaude. Pleasure running into you here," she speaks, tone sugar sweet towards the platinum haired male. Lightest of blonde, so nearly close to an ashy white, unlike the golden strands of her own.

He doesn't answer. Only a simple flitting look, as he continues on without so much as another glance back to her. Oh?

Always such the mysterious one. The one that comes and goes without so much another word. A wandering cloud, was it? But those are not what her flame allies with.

There's something about him that captures her attention, snaring it longer than most people do. Perhaps it's the fact that he pays her no mind that intrigues her so.

They barely know of each other, or well, perhaps it's safer to say that she barely knows of him. The information regarding the male is held as confidential. Probably due to the occupation he resides in.

 _Hm_. He's a rather _handsome_ man. If she actually had a type, it **might** be one like him-

She puts the pondering to rest as her minuscule goal resumes toward reaching the desired destination. Not yet feeling like leaving the mansion, her stroll crosses the last bit of the garden, and leaves for the library.

The hallway looks luxurious as always. Though rather dark in colors, warm usually, a shade of crimson red or brown- the velvet curtains at this time are usually drawn back to allow natural lighting to filter through the strong panes.

She evenly strolls upon very soft, very long red rug, as the help would occasionally pass her by, keeping their head low and to their business. Some maids and butlers she assumes to be the lower class they took in. Ever the _generous_ man, Giotto is. Would take **any** opportunity to help those in need. The other employers he hired, more fit to combat, patrol as bodyguards inside and out the mansion. Though she would like to believe that the boss and his guardians are more than qualified to take down any adversary.

As she reaches the destination and enters, opening the grand double doors to the spacious room, a relaxing scent hits her. One of old books and worn shelves, stacking nearly to the ceiling. Despite newly renovated in decorations, the bookcases are antique and much to her liking. Plus, the library is often void of all people, a silent atmosphere, _also_ much to her liking.

The case nears as she leans, tip toeing for the tallest shelf and reaching towards the desire book. Though her fingertips fall short by a few inches, and she steadies herself, frowning. She doesn't suppose the Vongola keeps a librarian around? A sigh-

"Stealing our work, and now you're stealing our books?" A grumpy tone surfaces from down the aisle, and her gaze meets the other. Redhead, good enough height.

"Ah, G." Her lips transform into a smile, one more mockingly than it is ever polite. She had heard his steps faintly from a distance away, thus the lack of reaction. "How do you do?"

He scoffs in dramatic annoyance. One hand reaching down to his pocket, and she already knows a pack of cigarettes will come from such a gesture.

"Do you make it a habit to smoke in the library?"

"No, but I'm going to need it if I am to deal with you."

A small twitch of a smile, a light shrug, and she faces the bookshelf again, head tilted as to direct his gaze towards the spot in question. "Care to make yourself useful?"

"Is that any way to ask for help?" The comment only makes her eyes roll.

"Ah then, forget it." -For Freya Knight doesn't ask for help. And a long time.. Acquaintance like him should know that better than anyone. Longer than she knows anyone, from then to now. But she prides herself in believing **no one** is capable of understanding her, _knowing_ her.

There is an audible exhale of breath, and she smells the puff of visible, tainted air. How distasteful. "Which one?" a question voiced as if so bothered to even ask.

"If you so insist," she pretends to muse before pointing.

'You're _infuriating_."

"Thank you." She has some manners. Some. Though she likes to think she practices being mannered often, just not so much when they don't come to any use.

"And oddly prideful."

"Are you _saying_ I should be shameful?"

"No. But you should at least **feel** shame."

An index fingertip taps upon her lips, humming to invigorate thoughts. "-I think I'll pass." The blonde then opens the new acquired book, lazily flipping through the pages as she skims over some words. From the corner of the eyes, she finds him leaning lightly against the shelf, blowing out another puff of smoke. The scent is distracting, and she purposely wrinkles her nose.

"Are you going?"

She frowns. "If you are so _suffered_ by my presence, perhaps **you** can leave instead."

"No- _Ugh_." His hand runs upwards through red locks in a frustrated motion. Body then straightening as he moved to stand before her. " **Visiting** , are you going to?"

Ah. The book shuts with an audible noise, dust emitting visibly from the action. "No," a crystal clear syllable, before pressing the borrowed item into his chest. Letting go, without a care as to whether or not he gained purchase of it.

Some steps forward, and her progress is put to a halt. A jerk and firm but not tight grip upon her slender wrist. Having allowed the man to hold her back, for a reason almost unknown to her as she turns barely to glance at him with one, single ice blue eye. Though no words pass from his thin lips, only pressed together into a fine line as he stares at her. As if communicating through unspoken contact.

But she had enough of this.

"Oh? If you wanted to hold me-"

"You should go." A serious tone that befits his demeanor but not one she would say she prefers. Not to mention, she _despises_ being cut off.

"Don't jeopardize your health," is all she replies before harshly jerking her wrist away from his warm captivity. But it seems like had given up- a wise choice, because she remains free from his touch and fruitless convictions as she leaves peacefully. _Fool_.

Why would _she_ visit? Her old family, living in her old conditions? Old lifestyle. _The_ _past_.

 _Why should she visit the past?_

One that surely no longer welcomes her. Probably resents her for leaving them behind- not like she had a choice.

A lump now appears in her throat as she thinks about how she would've given _anything_ to go back to those days. All her riches and hard work traded for days over barely any bread to starving children and stealing to get by- she would do that, if it meant smiling and laughing with her family. A family that is no more.

But she can't. Not anymore.

* * *

So instead, as the clock chimes midnight, Freya assassinates the next target in his own bedroom. Cold, cruel blade slashing across his neck, drawing warm hot blood from the wound. White pillows stained by its usual occupant as he chokes on his own blood- to his death. One hand clutches pitifully at his wound while the other feeble one reaches out helplessly towards her. But she only stands her distance, looking down upon the 'victim'.

 _Disgusting, wretched old man_. "Send Satan my greetings," she murmurs to him in the sweetest voice possible, making sure to display a beautiful smile- the last image he'll get to see.

And he's gone.

She won't even bother to close those _dead_ eyes that remained opened in shock. Leave it for the next **unfortunate** person to find him, even if they would rightly be celebrating his doom. Without another wasted moment, the blonde heaves his treasures in her bag, an addition to the bounty on his head, and leaves without so much a glance back.

Perhaps she should… Send another healthy amount home- back to her.. No. But she does owe them, or- **_?!_**

She should've **known** better than to be _distracted_ , now mentally cursing when something **yanks** her back. A strong grip on her arm and she _whirls_ back to find a muscular, unrelenting man. Bl-

" **FOUND HER!** " His voice booms as he roars to the other guards down the hallway.

Biting down her lip as if to keep the panic at bay, she reaches for the small needles within her dress, and rams it into his arm. Dripping in paralysis and poison that does just the trick. Eyes shot with unseen _bewilderment_ , she yanks away from his grasp and _kicks_ him where it hurts most. **So** much more impact with her heels. And _stabs_ the already tainted dagger into his neck. _One down_ -

" **GET HER!** "

 _ **Twenty**_ _more to go_.

A feat she now admits to be near impossible as she fends off one guy twice her size, only to- **_?!_**

HELL- A **painful** yelp, as her knee _hits_ the ground. **ARROW** \- Metallic taste in her mouth as her hand _yanks_ it out- and **stabs** it in the next person's neck. DODGE-!

TOO LATE- A body **SLAMS** her to the ground. PAIN _courses_ through her head as the side **SMACKS** against tile. A large hand SQUEEZES her fragile wrists together. Weight _presses_ upon her while a grip on her thin neck **SUFFOCATES** her. **CAN'T** \- BREATHE- ** _!_**

She curses with a cough. Wriggling **uselessly** under someone TWICE her weight- She messed up.

 **This** is where it ends. Perhaps she deserved ALL of this. All the people she _ruined_ , all the ones she **left** , without so much as an _ounce_ of courage to face them again-

.

 **-AS IF.**

She finally twists her hand into the right position, revealing a ring with a hidden needle of the same quality as the lone one she used before. **Jabbing** it into his hand, she waits as the prisoner goes still.

" **YOU** -"

How to- ** _?!_**

Though she originally planned on a **different** course, the sound of _screaming_ and groaning men in **agony** is her cue.

So she _shoves_ what is practically a corpse away, looking down upon the shocked ridden man, before lifting her foot up. _Smiling bloodily_ , as she **STOMPS** her sharp heel down with _every_ pound in her body, **puncturing** his neck.

 _Disgusting_. The sound of twisting before she lifts her bloodied heel is enough to _nearly_ make her vomit. But she did lose her dagger- **_?_**

"I can't quite say if you have class- or none, whatsoever."

Not bothering to feign surprise, she rolls her eyes at the familiar voice, even if his strange chuckle is the most notable- now watching as the man strides up to her, brushing blood off from his kill- or _kills_. She would **_love_ ** to stand straight and to give him a smirk that says it all: 'I could handle myself'- but it's a _lie_ , and they _both_ know it, **especially** as she tips over-

But he catches swiftly, one supporting arm under and around. "My my, you ought to not move around so much. You're rather **damaged** , my dear _damsel in distress_."

It was **meant** as a _scoff_ \- though surely in _this_ condition it sounded much more like a cough- to her pride's dismay. Nevertheless, a smile **does** manage to crack upon her _pained_ features.

"Took you long enough. But **you** \- _are no Prince Charming to me_."

* * *

 **END; CHAPTER ONE.**

I'd love to receive any reviews from my wonderful readers (which I will reply to **every** review next chapter to the best of my abilities). Thank you so much for finishing the chapter!

And here's some questions to ponder about:

 _Surprise, surprise. Who do you think is the person who came to save her?_

 _Also, what do you suspect of her relationship to G?_

But other than that, I'd also like to know you! I'm _Christine_ , for those who don't already know me. My friend once gave me the nickname **Chibari** because I'm absolutely obsessed with- well, Hibari LOL. What do you like to be called by? C:


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